


illuminate the nos

by fanpersoningfox



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Sick Grantaire, Soulmates, Weddings, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 08:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17464346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanpersoningfox/pseuds/fanpersoningfox
Summary: Grantaire is married to a man who's rigorously against the system of matched partners. He's also desperately crushing on said man.Then there's a wedding and they need to convince the virtuepolice that they're not objecting to the system.A kiss escalates in the worst way but husbands have each other's backs, right?





	illuminate the nos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [traveling_ink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveling_ink/gifts).



> This was a Christmas gift for traveling_ink last year, I'm only just now getting around to post it.  
> When I wrote this, I'd seen the movie once but I've been told that I've hit the characterizations well enough. I'm actually still pretty proud of this fic. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, it's rated mature because I think that suits the tone of the fic better, but the end is fairly explicit.
> 
> Title from the George Blagden cover of I Will Follow You Into The Dark, which I listened to on repeat while writing this.

The door shuts behind the last of the guests. Now they’re alone in the house. Their house. It’s a weird feeling, to think of it as that. Not as weird as thinking of Enjolras as his husband, though. Or thinking of him in general. Not like Grantaire hasn’t been thinking of him non-stop for the last eight weeks, from the very moment the letter announcing their official matching arrived. But then he’d been just a name, an idea, golden ink on creamy white paper, designed, no, designated to be with him for the rest of their lives. Now he’s there, in physical proximity, they’ve gotten married five hours ago, now they’re living together; two guys who’ve never even seen each other before.

And now they’re alone together. For the first time ever, actually. Grantaire looks over at Enjolras who’s standing a couple feet away from him, just close enough to not seem like he’s avoiding his new husband’s presence. His hair looks like actual gold in the dim light of their hallway, it’s kind of ridiculous but the light also softens some of his features while the shadows sharpen others, and Grantaire catches himself thinking _‘At least he’s hot.’_ Followed by _‘Thank God I’m into dudes.’_ He clears his throat.

“Uh, let’s go to bed?”

Enjolras nods.

“Yeah. Go ahead. I’ll take the couch.”

“What? Why??”

“I’m not sharing a bed with someone I don’t know.”

That is a fair point but on the other hand…

“We’re married.”

The words come out more shocked than they’re supposed to. Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“Involuntarily, yeah.”

Again, that’s a fair point but it’s not like they can change this. Grantaire opens his mouth to say so but the look in Enjolras’s eyes tells him not to push the matter. Instead he shrugs, then raises an eyebrow.

“C’mon, dude, the bed’s more than big enough for both of us. I’m not gonna jump on you or something. We’d already established that we’re just gonna pretend we had super intense wedding night sex, remember? ‘T’s not like anyone expects us to get each other pregnant, right?”

The moment the words leave his mouth he knows they’re a mistake. Congratulations for bringing sex into this. Enjolras’s eyes narrow.

“Exactly. We’re not going to produce offspring, so where’s the point in matching us up together? Not like it would be any better if we did, but there’s even less of a point like this. Why do they get to pick who we spend our lives with? Who even are _they_? Why can’t we make this decision ourselves? Why are we forced to get married to a fucking stranger without the slightest choice?”

He looks positively furious now, like smoke was about to come from his ears and fire from his eyes, the sharply delivered questions cutting through the cool silence around them.

Grantaire shrugs.

“Whatever. I’m going to bed now. Join me if you care for your back, or don’t. Whatever you please.”

 

He doesn’t.

 

 

Grantaire spends his wedding night alone with his thoughts. For a second he considers to invite his right hand to the party but he doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t feel like anything, to be honest. The parts of his chest and stomach that had been buzzing and grumbling with emotions for the last weeks, getting louder and louder all through today, seem to have just vanished, leaving a heavy emptiness in their wake.

What had he expected? Enjolras to magically fall for him because they’d been chosen to be together?  Romance and happiness till death do them part? Yeah, no. Grantaire considers himself a realist and reality sucks ass.

Who would fall for him anyways, of all people? Grantaire’s not a lovable person. He pours his milk before his cereal and besides that wearily resigns to his fate because he doesn’t see the point in doing something about it. He’s lazy, indifferent to the world around him, depressing to be around. Or so he’s been told.

And yet, he’s hoped getting married would… would what? Change something? Give him a perspective? Shake him out of his apathy? Put someone by his side.

He may have been unable to pick that someone but this way they – he – cannot just leave him either. Yes, Grantaire knows that’s pathetic but it’s not like he cares.

Not that any of this matters since his husband sees him as the personification of everything wrong with society. And it’s just their first night.

 

***

 

Despite sharing a home and technically a bed, Grantaire barely sees Enjolras, who leaves for work before Grantaire even gets up and only returns late at night. For the first week Grantaire has tried to wait up for him, but after realizing that his husband is actively avoiding him he stopped. Not that it makes a difference, really. He himself works from home, gets drunk before noon, continues his life like it’s been as a bachelor.

When they run into each other at the coffee machine in their kitchen one Sunday morning, a little over a month into their marriage, Grantaire watches Enjolras wince and hold his back when reaching for a mug.

“The bed’s still half free, y’know?”

“Yes, freer than us in our choice of whom we spend our lives with.”

Grantaire shrugs and pours whiskey into his coffee:

“Suit yourself.”

 Enjolras stares at him, stunned.

Grantaire puts the bottle back in its place on the shelf and takes a swig.

“Don’t give me that kinda look; we all have our coping mechanisms.”

He expects Enjolras to have a snarky retort to that but it doesn’t come. Instead a flash of strange emotion flits across his face; maybe anger or guilt, it’s too brief for Grantaire to tell.

Enjolras just nods, then takes his coffee mug and leaves the kitchen.

Grantaire is left wondering whether his husband is pissed about the bed situation or the drinking. Probably both. Although to be fair, Enjolras seems to be pissed about everything.

 

***

 

They have been married for a little over two months when Grantaire finds the invitation in the mail. He rips open the soft gray envelope, wary that it may be something official about how they’re not acting like a married couple is supposed to. Instead he is greeted with neat cursive script inviting Enjolras and him to the wedding ceremony and celebration of Marius Pontmercy and Cosette Fauchelevent.

“Eh, Apollo!”

 

He can almost hear Enjolras roll his eyes in the other room. His husband doesn’t exactly appreciate the nickname Grantaire gave him but honestly, he had it coming when he replied to Grantaire’s exasperated groan of “my god…” at one of Enjolras’s rants on social liberty with “you can say Enjolras, I’m not for titles within a marriage”. That had led to Grantaire raising an eyebrow and smirking, the comment on finally learning about Enjolras’s preferences and being direly disappointed on his lips.

From that day on, though, he had used a different deity’s name every time he addressed his husband until finally settling on Apollo because of the way his curls glow in the light like he’s actually the god of the sun. Not that Grantaire would ever tell him that to his face without oozing sarcasm out of every pore, but it’s fun to watch him get annoyed.

 

“What is it?”

“Do you by any chance know a Marius Pontmercy or a Cosette Fauchelevent?”

“Yes, Marius works with me, why?”

“Oh, good, because I was just getting worried why we’re invited to some strangers’ wedding. Although…”

“What??”

Enjolras, who’s by now abandoned his spot at the kitchen table and joined Grantaire in the hall, plucks the letter from the other’s fingers.

“… are looking forward to celebrate our special day with you…,” he reads. His brows knit together. “They want us both to come.”

Grantaire can’t help but feel a little sting at those words and the cold way Enjolras says them. Of course he knows that Enjolras doesn’t like being married to him, so naturally he isn’t excited about Grantaire meeting his friends either.

“Yes, that’s what people tend to do with married couples. But don’t worry; I’m really good at faking stomach flu, so you won’t need to bother with me.”

As usual he hides his pain behind a thick armor of sarcasm, shooting his husband a toothy grin, the kind that used to fool all of his grandaunts into giving him extra candy. He can tell Enjolras isn’t impressed, which would be an insult to his acting abilities if he didn’t know that nothing he does could ever impress his Apollo.

“I’m not…” Enjolras breaks off. “You’re probably right.”

Grantaire can’t help but feel like that’s a direct reply to his thoughts.

 

 

Two days later Enjolras comes home pale as a sheet and shaking with anger. Grantaire raises an eyebrow at him and sets his paintbrush down.

“What’s up?”

“Marius!”

“It’s Grantaire.”

“Not funny. Marius is getting married to _Cosette_ – “

“Yes. We got the invitation the day before yesterday. What’s your point?”

“ – one of whose fathers is working for the virtuepolice and the very officer who’s arrested us last year at a demonstration.”

Grantaire realizes he’s staring but right now he doesn’t care.

“You’ve been arrested? For what?? Is there anything else I should know about you???”

Enjolras, who is now pacing across their living room carpet and pulling his hair in frustration, gives a dismissive huff.

“We did a road block last spring to demonstrate for marriage freedom but it hadn’t been announced to the authorities so the cops tried to force us to leave, used tear gas and everything, talk about police brutality, Combeferre can’t wear contacts anymore because of it, anyway, we got away with a warning, but this one officer somehow started to hold a grudge on me in particular, I don’t know, I may have told him that we need marriage freedom so people can have children with whomever they want, which would rid the world of men like him and make it a better place. Didn’t like to hear that so he got me banned from public speaking for half a year and threatened to put a note on my record that I’m a terrorist threat, which would make it basically impossible for me to find a job and, you know, live a decent life. Yes, that’s illegal, but who even checks these things? And apparently this officer has a daughter, who apparently is getting married to my coworker, friend, and fellow Ami Marius, isn’t that great?”

Enjolras ranting is a sight to behold. He gets very passionate, eyes ablaze, voice like red-hot glass, gesturing wildly with his arms, giving Grantaire the urge to hold them down and silence him with a kiss. Pin him against a wall, kiss him breathless, make him moan. Grantaire would probably sell his soul to hear Enjolras moan. Although hearing him clamor on about social justice and marriage freedom isn’t too bad either. Just hearing him talk is a pleasure, to be fair, Grantaire would listen to him read his grocery shopping list out loud – and actually does so on the weekly.

Enjolras abruptly stops in front of Grantaire and makes eye contact with him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“I need you.”

Grantaire’s heart skips a beat.

“This man has to be convinced that I am not a threat to society, that I have come to an insight as to why being assigned a partner is actually not that bad. In order to achieve that, we need to convince him that I’m happily married. Thus, I need you to come to that wedding with me and act like we’re as happily married and in love as Marius and Cosette will be.”

Grantaire’s heart stings. Act like they’re happy together.

He isn’t entirely sure what Enjolras has just said, he’s been too distracted by the way his lips move; fuck, he really needs to get a grip. But Enjolras is staring at him with an amount of intent and hope that Grantaire has never seen before, it’s captivating and before he can overthink this he nods.

“Sure.”

 

***

 

Grantaire looks good in a suit. Everyone does, but for him it’s a nice contrast to his usual hoodies and worn jeans. He’s even wearing a tie, a dark green one Éponine got him for his birthday two years ago, and that makes his eyes look green even though they’re normally a pale, gray-ish blue.

Enjolras looks positively divine in a suit. Grantaire didn’t think anyone could pull off a blood-red suit but Enjolras quite obviously can.  It goes exceptionally well with his golden hair and makes him appear even more like the God of the sun than usually. Instead of wearing a tie he’s left the top buttons of his stark white dress shirt undone, exposing his throat.

Grantaire is momentarily distracted by the thought of running his tongue along its curve and sucking a possessive mark into the pale skin.

“You ready?”

Enjolras’s voice and annoyed tone pull him back to reality.

“Ready when you are,” he retorts, flashing Enjolras a cheeky grin. The smile he gets back has even worse effects on his heart rate than Enjolras’s throat.

Pushing down the urge to kiss Apollo – Jesus, he really needs to get a grip – he offers him his arm, combined with a sarcastic eyebrow raise to conceal the emotional storm inside his chest and belly.

Enjolras takes it. The storm grows into a hurricane.

 

 

The wedding ceremony is nice. Not that different from their own, only that Cosette and Marius have written their vows themselves, a page and a half each. Grantaire rolls his eyes so hard Enjolras gives him an intense look, like he’s worried they’ll get stuck. Then he exhales sharply and nods, and Grantaire is left wondering whether or not that’s just been the first time they’ve ever agreed on something.

Afterwards there’s an extensive meal at a fancy restaurant during which Grantaire sits between Enjolras and a guy with hipster glasses, who eats all five courses with just one hand because his other is holding his date’s. The girl across from Grantaire keeps stealing bites from both of the guys sitting on either side of her, obviously flirting, and Grantaire is feeling incredibly out of place.

“Try this!”

He looks up to find a forkful of some kind of pastry right in front of his face and his husband looking at him expectantly. Perplexed, he opens his mouth and lets Enjolras feed him the bite. It’s crispy and buttery and probably the best thing he’s ever tasted. He makes a surprised but delighted “mhmm”-sound and Enjolras beams at him.

Grantaire feels his cheeks heat up and takes a sip from his wineglass.

Enjolras’s glance flits over to where the bride’s family is sitting and the man in a military parade uniform watching them.

Right. That’s the reason they’re doing this. To fit in with the happily married couples and convince the inspector that Enjolras isn’t a terrorist. Not because Apollo is actually interested in flirting with Grantaire. His heart sinks.

But two can play this game and if this is how he can support Enjolras, then Grantaire will do it, because that’s what husbands are for, right? Supporting each other. Even if the support isn’t actually welcome.

Thus, he swallows the lump in his throat together with the bite of pastry, washes it down with the rest of his wine, and gives Enjolras a smile.

“Thank you, dear, that is delicious. Just like you.”

Apollo’s eyes go wide but he catches himself quickly and playfully swats at Grantaire’s arm.

“Stop that, not at the table!”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow.

“Or what?”

He gets an exasperated sigh and a look that could easily be read as fond from an onlooker’s perspective.

“You are insufferable.”

 

 

Later, when they’re eating dessert, Enjolras manages to get mousse au chocolat on his nose and Grantaire is this close to kissing it off. He considers it for a long moment, unconsciously staring at his husband until Enjolras notices and asks:

“What?”

“You’ve got something on your nose…”

Enjolras’s face scrunches up and he goes cross-eyed, trying to see the spot. It’s such an adorable sight, Grantaire’s breath catches in his throat.

“Hold on, let me…”

He uses the pad of his thumb to wipe the smear away and licks it clean without a thought. Enjolras stares at him.

The girl across from them says: “Get a room!” as if she hadn’t just stolen a cherry out of one of her dates’ mouth by means of a kiss two minutes ago.

Both Grantaire and Enjolras blush but before Grantaire can chicken out he leans in to whisper into Enjolras’s ear:

“Pretend I’m saying something sweet and/or dirty relating to what that girl just said.”

Enjolras stiffens for a second but when Grantaire pulls back and catches his eye he smirks.

“Yes.”

 

 

Afterwards they dance. Marius and Cosette have opened the dance floor with a beautiful waltz and now other couples are joining them. The triad who’s been sitting across from Grantaire is actually managing to waltz with three people, an impressive achievement. Hipster glasses and his date are also up and gone and somehow Grantaire and Enjolras end up being the last two sitting at their table. It’s alright, their own wedding dance has been awkward enough, no need to repeat that.

Enjolras clears his throat.

“So, would you like to dance?”

Grantaire considers it. Swaying to the music amongst the other couples, holding Apollo in his arms, having him step on his feet like he did at their own wedding, his hand warm in Grantaire’s. Enjolras all up close in his personal space. He is not drunk enough for that and he really shouldn’t drink more than he already has.

“Nah.”

Maybe he imagines it but Enjolras looks actually disappointed.

 

 

“Boys,” a deep, unpleasantly sharp voice says. Enjolras whips around like he’s been struck; Grantaire looks up, too. The man in the uniform who’s been watching them earlier is standing behind them and extending his hand towards Grantaire.

“Inspector Javert. Enjolras here and I have some history together, but I don’t think I have had the pleasure of meeting his husband yet.”

It doesn’t sound like he is having any pleasure but neither is Grantaire – or Enjolras for that matter, judging by his facial expression. Nonetheless, Grantaire takes the offered hand and shakes it firmly. This man is the reason he’s here, to help his Apollo out, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do his job.

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

Inspector Javert uninvitedly takes a seat next to him and looks back and forth between the two.

“So, how are things going? Enjolras here isn’t exactly known for his passion for marriage.”

The look in the inspector’s eyes is predatory and Grantaire understands why Enjolras is so worried. _Well_ , he thinks to himself, _showtime._

“Oh, believe me when I say that my husband’s passion is impeccable.”

He smiles brightly and raises a suggestive eyebrow. Enjolras next to him makes a strangled sound but he can’t turn to look at him right now or he’ll lose it.

“In fact, I believe I got very lucky being matched with such a compassionate partner. He is everything one could wish for in a husband. He is smart, he has a great standard of bodily hygiene, he cooks amazing food, and have you seen his face? I am a lucky man indeed.”

Still smiling, he leans into Enjolras’s side, who promptly wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“So you don’t have any reports to make?”

Javert asks, unimpressed.

Grantaire makes his best offended-but-trying-not-to-show-it noise.

“No, absolutely not. Unless you have to report these days if your husband’s too good in bed.”

He says with a wink.

“Oh my god, R…”

Enjolras mutters under his breath, and Grantaire isn’t sure whether he’s acting or actually annoyed, but he’s too distracted by the nickname Apollo’s just called him.

Inspector Javert looks positively disgusted.

“I see. Have a good day.”

 

Then he’s up and gone. Grantaire can feel Enjolras slump against his side. It’s nice, actually. Then he pushes Grantaire away.

“What the – ? What were you thinking??”

Grantaire rolls his eyes.

“What? He believes we’re a dream couple and he’s not asking any more questions, isn’t this what you wanted?”

He watches Enjolras run his hands through his hair with a frustrated huff.

“Yes, but… the police doesn’t need to know about my skills in bed.”

“… which I completely made up.”

Now Enjolras actually blushes and Grantaire is completely at loss. How is this conversation even real? He is not drunk enough for any of this, especially not for the stunts his heart is performing at the sight of blushing Enjolras.

“You know what? I’m going to get a drink. See you later.”

And with that he gets up and leaves Enjolras behind at the table.

 

 

As he’s waiting for his drink at the bar he’s approached by hipster-glasses’s date. Honestly, he’s a little surprised to find out they’re not actually grown together at the palms.

“Hey, you’re Grantaire, right?”

The guy asks and holds out his hand. Grantaire shakes it.

“Yes, why?”

The other smiles.

“Hi. My name’s Courfeyrac. I’m a friend of Enjolras’s, we’ve seen each other at you guys’ wedding but you don’t look like you remember me, so I thought I’d introduce myself again.”

Grantaire offers him an apologetic smile.

“You’re right, I don’t, thanks. But don’t take it personally, I suck at names. And faces. And people in general.”

He winces. Courfeyrac grins.

“Don’t worry. I just wanted to say that I’m glad you and Enj get along so well now. You probably know his standpoint on the whole matching thing, so you’ll get why we as his friends were worried about him being miserable. But you’re making him happy, that’s obvious, you guys are a great match.”

Grantaire feels his throat close up. Fooling the wrongful police inspector is one thing, Enjolras’s friends a whole other. But Courfeyrac keeps talking, oblivious to Grantaire’s inner turmoil.

“He should bring you along to our meetings some time; we’d love to have you!”

He looks genuinely excited and Grantaire can’t bring himself to say anything, because what could he say? ‘ _Well, actually he doesn’t like me, in fact he’s looking down on me, and he has every right to because I’m a pathetic excuse of a human being and if we hadn’t been matched, we wouldn’t ever have so much as spoken to each other because he’s so far out of my league.’_? Yeah, right.

Luckily the bartender hands him his drink right then so he smiles at Courfeyrac and leaves. He’s tempted to down the thing in one go but refrains from doing so so he doesn’t ruin the positive impression he’s apparently made on Enjolras’s friends. By the time he returns to their table the glass is more than half empty nonetheless.

 

 

Enjolras is still sitting exactly where Grantaire’s left him. Before Grantaire can sit down again though, he gets up.

“Dance with me.”

“Haven’t I already said no?”

“Come on, please. It’d be weird if we didn’t,” he adds more quietly.

He takes Grantaire’s hand and gives him the most intense puppy eyes in the entirety of France. Grantaire’s heart stutters and he curses under his breath as he downs the rest of his drink in one go and lets himself be pulled onto the dancefloor.

It is kind of ridiculous. Enjolras couldn’t dance in step if his life depended on it, which both of them know, so Grantaire does begrudgingly take the lead. He pulls Enjolras in and wraps his arm around him, his hand resting just below the other’s shoulder blades. Then he’s moving them to the music, basically maneuvering Enjolras around the other couples while trying to keep his own feet safe from his partner’s steps. It’s a little odd since Enjolras is like half a head taller than him, just enough to make it hard to lead him, but Grantaire dances well enough to compensate, plus by now he does have some experience in pushing Enjolras around.

Although Grantaire would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. He likes dancing and he’s good at it; he’s actually considered to do it professionally once but then settled on illustrating instead. The music is great, a Viennese waltz, and Grantaire almost feels like he’s flying. While carrying along a sack of wet sand that’s mumbling “one two three, one two three” to itself. That’s not quite fair to say though, because Enjolras does have impeccable posture; he just keeps stumbling over his own feet and stepping on Grantaire’s. Finally, Grantaire’s had enough.

“Apollo. Look at me. Relax. And let me fucking lead you, oh my god.”

Enjolras does meet his glance now, giving him an apologetic quirk of his lips. They’re incredibly close, Grantaire realizes, maybe a little too late. Enjolras’s face is only a couple inches from his, close enough that their breaths mix, and he’s looking at Grantaire with his trademark intensity that makes him weak at the knees.

To break the awkward eye-contact Grantaire looks down but now his gaze is stuck to Enjolras’s lips, which is not helping at all. On the contrary, the way Enjolras is biting them, probably to stop himself from counting - they’re still moving, purely relying on Grantaire’s muscle memory -, is doing things to Grantaire that he’d rather keep away from crowded dancefloors and other people’s weddings. Suddenly he’s aware of the warmth that’s radiating trough his palm where it’s resting on Enjolras’s back, he can feel the other’s muscles move under the fabric of that damned red suit. He tries to look away from Apollo’s lips but then his eyes land on his throat and the little dip between his collar bones and he quickly looks back up.

Enjolras is still looking at him expectantly and because Grantaire sucks at self-control he pulls him in closer and kisses him square on the lips.

For half a moment it’s just like he’d hoped, soft and warm, and then his brain catches up and he notices that Enjolras has gone stiff in his arms, isn’t kissing back, and he realizes that this is not how this is supposed to be. Enjolras pulls away as soon as Grantaire lets go of him.

 

***

 

They’re in the car on their way home and Grantaire knows he’s fucked up. Of course he has. It was idiotic to think Enjolras would be alright with being kissed. The look in his eyes right in that moment would have been enough to crush Grantaire’s skull, but it’d only lasted a fraction of a moment before he’d regained his composure. Still, he’s quite obvious in his efforts to act like they’re in love and this was normal and alright. They finished the song dancing but the space between them had grown cold. Enjolras hasn’t actually met Grantaire’s eye for the rest of the night and they took the earliest given opportunity to leave. Now Enjolras is pulling into their drive way and Grantaire is simultaneously regretting every drink he’s had tonight and wishing for another.

Enjolras parks the car and looks at Grantaire, fuming with anger, and bursts out:

“You kissed me! You touched me! You – you think that because we’re married that’s okay? It is not! You are not entitled to my body! You are not entitled to anything from me! This is exactly why I didn’t trust you in the beginning and guess what, I was right, you fucking asshole! You come here and think I owe you things because some ignorant government official thought we should get married, this is exactly why this system is fucked up, because guess what, I don’t owe you anything! You don’t get to just kiss me whenever you please!! I am a person; I’m not your property! You…”

Grantaire stares at him and reminds himself that he’s fucked up and this is not the time to admire the way Enjolras’s eyes seem to be sparking. He needs to fix this.

“Hold on, that’s not…”

“Oh, it’s not what? It’s not true? Do you seriously think you can just go and kiss me as you like? You’re disgusting, Grantaire.”

There’s so much venom in his voice that Grantaire is afraid it might burn away his heart. He swallows.

“No. Listen, Apollo –“

“Don’t call me that! You don’t get to –“

“Jesus fucking Christ, Enjolras, would you shut the fuck up for once and let me talk? I get it, you don’t want me to kiss you, it was a mistake, I shouldn’t have done that, I won’t do it again.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. How is he supposed to explain this without making it a hundred times worse?

 “You’re totally right about marriage not equaling consent, I fully agree, and I do not believe you owe me anything.”

“Oh yeah. And that’s why you just grabbed and kissed me.”

The sarcasm is even more acidic as Grantaire hears his usual rhetoric device of choice spit back at him. He unconsciously curls into himself.

“No. I…”

_I kissed you because I’ve been dreaming about doing it for the last three months._

 “I kissed you because I was drunk and because I have no self-control when I’m drunk.”

That’s a lie. He was drunk – and he still kind of is although he has sobered up quite a bit – but not that drunk. Also, he never has self-control.

He is making this a hundred times worse, isn’t he? Fuck.

“I know that doesn’t excuse my behavior but… it’s not that I expected you to do anything because we’re married. I’d also‘ve done it if we weren’t. I…”

_I kissed you because I have a huge fucking crush on you._

Enjolras stares at him. The anger in his eyes is still there but it’s been joined by something else, an emotion Grantaire can’t quite place. He wishes he was better at reading him.

“You kissed me because you were _drunk?_ God, and here I was, thinking this couldn’t actually get any more objectifying.”

Now Enjolras’s voice is filled with cold disgust and Grantaire is suddenly incredibly angry.

“Oh, come on now, do you really want to talk about objectifying and using people? Because frankly, I remember you being the one using me for your stupid political intrigues. Yaaay, marriage freedom, whoohoo, I get that you don’t want to be married to me, but when you need me to play along to your stupid political games, then I’m suddenly good enough for you.”

Enjolras looks kind of taken aback.

“That’s not what this is about and you should know that!”

Grantaire raises his eyebrows.

“Should I?”

“Yes! One’s sexual harassment and the other’s… a favor. I _asked_ you.”

He’s right. Of course he is. Grantaire feels himself deflate, all of the sarcasm and anger and will to fight draining from his body. He’s tired. He’s so tired of crushing and hoping and being disappointed.

“Fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I just…”

He sighs. Whatever.

But Enjolras wouldn’t be Enjolras if he’d ever let an argument go, so he crosses his arms in front of his chest and gives Grantaire one of his trademark intense looks.

“You just what, Grantaire?”

“Nothing.”

He’s not in the mood for this.

_“Grantaire.”_

Fine. Might as well, it’s not like things could get any worse from here, right? He takes a deep breath and lets himself fall into the ice-cold water.

“I just really wanted to kiss you, okay?”

Enjolras stares at him. Grantaire stares back. Apollo stunned into silence may well be his biggest achievement so far. The way Enjolras’s eyes are widened in shock, the way his lips are slightly open, looking even more kissable than they did earlier, the way his entire body has gone still. He’s beautiful, Grantaire thinks, but what else is new?

Enjolras closes his mouth, looks away, licks his lips, looks back at Grantaire.

Grantaire rolls his eyes.

“See? It’s nothing. Just me being a normal person and kissing people because I like them, not because of social expectations. Surprise. I’m still sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I didn’t mean to. Now, mind if I go to bed? I’m tired.”

 

***

 

When Grantaire wakes up he feels absolutely awful. Not just hungover-awful and not just _I kissed my crush and he yelled at me_ -awful either, more like he’s been run over by a monster truck, which then decided to eat him, changed its mind and threw him back up half-digested after dissolving any trace of his self-esteem in acid. The light shining through the curtains is stinging in his eyes when he opens them, and makes his head hurt. He tries to sit up but gets so dizzy he collapses back onto his pillow. He’d try again but doesn’t have the energy so he drifts back to sleep.

 When he wakes up again he still feels like something one would find stuck to the bottom of a dumpster but he also really needs to pee so he forces himself to get up. It’s a pain, his head is spinning and his stomach turning, he stumbles in the direction of the door, carefully holding onto the wall with one hand as the edges of his vision are blurring.

He makes it to the bathroom and halfway back through the hallway before he blacks out.

 

The next thing he knows is the rough carpet against his cheek and someone shaking his shoulder.

“Grantaire? Are you alright?”

He recognizes that voice although he’s never heard it sounding this worried.

Weakly pushing away Enjolras’s hand, he tries to sit up but ends up slumped against the other.

“’M fine.”

“I’ve just found you passed out in the hallway, I think it’s pretty safe to say you’re not fine.”

Enjolras feels Grantaire’s forehead and sighs.

“You’re basically burning. Come on; let’s get you back into bed.”

Half walking, half hanging in Enjolras’s arms Grantaire makes it back to bed. He doesn’t remember ever having felt this horrible, but Apollo’s arm wrapped around him for support is actually kind of nice. When he’s lying back down again Enjolras looks at him with an expression somewhere between worry and something Grantaire is too sick to decipher.

“I’m going to get you something against the fever. Don’t try to get up again.”

 

 

Grantaire supposes he’s fallen asleep again because Enjolras’s voice startles him.

“R? Come on, take these.”

The mattress dips next to him and then there’s a pair of hands helping him to sit up and giving him some pills and a glass of water. He swallows the medicine obediently and takes a few sips of water, too, before his stomach protests.

“Is there anything else you need? Do you think you can eat?”

Enjolras is watching him intently.

Grantaire shakes his head.

“’M not hungry. Just cold.”

He shivers.

Enjolras sighs and nods.

“That’s the fever. It should go down soon though, so just rest. And call me if you need something. Don’t want to risk you passing out again and hurting yourself.”

He carefully tucks the blanket under Grantaire’s chin before he leaves and even flashes him a quick smile. Grantaire would be impressed if he had the energy.

 

 

The next time Grantaire wakes up it’s dark outside and his clothes and sheets are soaked with sweat. He feels gross and wishes for a shower but knows he won’t be able to stand for longer than maybe half a minute. He’d also really appreciate some cuddles but there’s no way in hell he’s getting those. Thus he drinks a few sips of water to help his arid throat and wash away the disgusting taste lingering on his tongue, and tries to go back to sleep.

He doesn’t sleep well, has weird dreams of Enjolras in a wedding dress trying to get him to join a revolution, their friends dying while a little boy sings, a room full of soldiers, Enjolras is there again but he’s ditched the dress, now they’re dying, too, together, falling into a sea of mousse au chocolat.

 

***

 

Finally, he wakes up and the fever has gone down. He still feels pretty mushy but it’s bearable. There’s light shining through the curtains so he guesses it’s the next morning already; his sense of time is completely messed up. He can hear some noise that could be Enjolras rummaging in the kitchen and his stomach growls. Food and a shower; that would be nice.

Carefully he gets up and pads over into the kitchen where Enjolras indeed is doing the dishes.

“G’morning.”

Enjolras spins around and stares at him for a second before breaking into a smile.

“R! Feeling better?”

Grantaire nods. He is not fit enough yet to think about why Apollo is looking genuinely happy to see him.

“Do we have food?”

“Yes, of course, go back to bed, I’ll make you some soup.”

Grantaire nods again, then shakes his head.

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Alright, but be careful.”

_I’m a grown man; I can take a shower,_ Grantaire thinks, but doesn’t say it because having Enjolras fuss over him is kind of nice.

 

 

When he returns to the bedroom freshly showered and in clean pajama pants and a t-shirt, he finds that someone – Enjolras – has changed the sheets. Before he can dwell on it though, the other comes in with a steaming bowl of soup.

“Here. Do you need anything else?”

Grantaire takes the bowl and a spoon Enjolras is offering him and shakes his head.

“No, I don’t think so. But thanks. For… all of this.”

He smiles weakly at Enjolras, who is blushing slightly and not looking at his face.

“It’s nothing, really. You’re sick and you needed someone to take care of you, I couldn’t just leave you on the hallway floor. Also, you kept talking in your sleep, calling my name.”

Now it’s Grantaire’s turn to blush. He doesn’t remember his fever dreams but now that Enjolras has brought it up he thinks the other’s right in that he dreamt of him. That’s… embarrassing.

“Did I… say anything in particular?”

Luckily, Enjolras shakes his head.

“Not really. Once you asked if I permit something, but I couldn’t find out what. Oh, and you talked about drinking, I think. But besides that it was just mumbling and humming and my name every now and then.”

Grantaire is ready to hit his head against a wall or crawl into a hole and never see daylight again. Or maybe both. But hey, at least he didn’t declare his undying love.

His embarrassment has to be plainly visible on his face because Enjolras smiles and says:

“Don’t worry though, I actually found it kind of cute.”

That statement does not make things better for Grantaire, rather the opposite. Although Enjolras finding him cute may very well be just another of his fever dreams. He groans and buries his face in his free hand.

“Which reminds me… we should probably have a talk.”

Grantaire freezes. That does not sound like a good thing.

“… about what you said the other night, in the car.”

That sounds even worse. But apparently he’s talked to and about Enjolras in his sleep so it’s not like there’s anything left of his dignity to get hurt.

He hears Enjolras take a deep breath.

“First of all, I want to apologize for yelling at you that much because although I stand by my points content-wise I have realized that it wasn’t fair of me to freak out on you like that as a kiss was pretty much a logical part of convincing people that we’re a normal, happily married couple and we probably should have discussed the borders of that beforehand.”

That sounds much rehearsed but not all that bad, actually. Grantaire dares to lower his hand and glance at Enjolras, who is looking exceedingly determined and really fucking hot. _Not fair_ , Grantaire thinks.

“Secondly, I want to apologize for the way I have been treating you these last couple of months. It’s not your fault we had to get married. If anything, we’re in this together.”

Grantaire opens his mouth to reply something but Enjolras raises his hand, signaling him to let him finish his speech first.

“Thirdly, and this is where my prepared speech is leaving me high and dry, there’s that last thing you said, about how you kissed me because you like me, I’ve been thinking about that, did you mean it?”

Confused, Grantaire raises his eyebrows:

“Are you asking me if I like you?”

Enjolras nods once:

“Yes.”

_Ok. Wow._

“That’s kind of unfair to ask now that you’ve been babying me for days. I’m indebted to you, I can’t not like you. Especially since you’ve given me this delicious soup. I mean, I guess it’s delicious, I obviously haven’t gotten around to eating it yet but because you actually are a fucking great cook it’s probably delicious. I mean, judging by the soups of yours that I’ve already had, y’know that one with the thingies, the pea… pearl… crunchy things? Two weeks ago? That was good.”

He knows he’s rambling and he should just shut up and say yes, he does like Enjolras, and get it over with but something, everything, about this situation feels unreal, it’s making him nervous, and nervous Grantaire responds to everything with sarcastic rambling.

Normally, Enjolras’s reaction to Grantaire’s rambling (well, to most of his talking in general, actually) is an eye-roll accompanied by an exasperated huff but now he is just watching him intently, eyes full of poorly concealed emotion. It’s equal parts fear and hope, held together by that typical determination, and Grantaire feels the words die in his throat. He swallows.

“Yeah.”

Enjolras nods. Now he’s looking like he’s desperately clinging to a script but the fear has disappeared from his eyes and the determination has taken over.

“That leads me to point number four, which is that I like you. Generally, as a person. And also… I’m absolutely against this system of arranged marriages without choice, you know that, and I’m not going to change my mind about this. Especially the way the virtuepolice is controlling us is oppressive and needs to be stopped. But recently I’ve had to reevaluate my standpoint on the matching as such. I talked to ‘Ferre, and to Marius, and to Jehan, and to the rest of my friends, too, actually, and all of them are really happy with their matched partners. I don’t know how the DNA-analysis works in detail but apparently it does. And that got me thinking. About you, in fact. I mean, there has to be a reason why we’ve been matched up. I’m still skeptical about matching as a concept, but I’ve realized that you’re actually a pretty cool person. You’ve got a great sense of humor, honestly, and you’re mostly only cynical and annoying because I’ve been antagonizing you in my efforts to prove that the system is wrong. Your art is beautiful, and you make way better coffee than I do, and I’m still impressed by your ability to dance with me and have it not end in a catastrophe, and sometimes, when your guard is down, you get this look on your face where… I’m getting off track here, what I’m trying to get at is that I like you, and I am sorry for how things have started out between us, and I’d like to try again.”

 

***

 

Their first time going out together and actually trying to view it as a date, they’ve been married for three and a half months. It is kind of an odd feeling but it’s nice, too. They’re at an art gallery, and the security staff member is giving them deathglares because Enjolras is laughing so hard he’s having trouble standing up. But it’s his own fault, really, he’s the one who pretentiously picked out the place for their first actually-probably-a-date, and now he just has to deal with Grantaire spouting ridiculous critique and trivia about the paintings and artists in the most pretentious sophisticated voice he can manage. Most of it he’s just reading from the little plaques next to the works but Enjolras is losing it anyways. The first few rooms he’d been trying to keep it together but now there are tears in his eyes and he’s silently shaking. Grantaire wonders briefly if he’s broken him.

When Grantaire points out the “horrendous detail in the eyebrows of this poor, dead lion” Enjolras’s legs finally give in and he falls to his knees, holding his stomach and quietly gasping for air in between hysterical giggles.

“Messieurs, I have to ask you to leave, this is not the place for anyone to be rolling on the floor. Please leave now or you will be removed by force.”

The security guy’s voice is almost as pretentious as Grantaire’s fake guide voice and sends Enjolras right into another laughing fit, making it impossible to stand up.

Although he’s barely keeping it together himself Grantaire manages to pull his husband to his feet and out of the building, an arm looped around his waist for support. They collapse onto a bench, clinging to each other and wiping the tears from their eyes.

“Oh my God, Grantaire…” Enjolras says into Grantaire’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath. Grantaire grins.

“I thought you’re not one for titles within a relationship, Apollo?”

The other snorts and half-heartedly swats at him.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Enjolras freezes. Grantaire does, too. _Shit. Did that go too far?_ Before he can freak out, though, Enjolras is sitting up and looking at him, suddenly serious but with a provocative glint in his eyes.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

Grantaire’s gaze drops to Enjolras’s lips. They’re deep red from when he’s been biting them to stifle his laughter, and just a tiny bit chapped. Enjolras darts his tongue out to wet them. Grantaire swallows.

“Enj! Hey!”

Both of them flinch and turn towards the voice. It’s the guy to who’s wedding they’ve been the other week, Marius. He waves at them, smiling.

“Hello, you two, nice to see you! What are you doing here?”

Grantaire suppresses a groan, the very last thing he wants to do now is hold Smalltalk. He’s been this close to kissing Enjolras, consensually. The only upside is that Enjolras looks just as annoyed by the interruption as Grantaire feels, even though he smiles back at Marius and talks about the weather.

 

After that, they go to a restaurant for dinner and although the moment is gone the atmosphere between them is pleasant, comfortable. They talk about art, their friends, and the food, casually joking and laughing together, only playfully debating whether mousse au chocolat or crème brûlée is the superior dessert, and ending up sharing a bowl of each. On their way home they walk closely next to each other, their arms brushing, and Grantaire rests his hand on the small of Enjolras’s back.

 

 

When they’re getting ready for bed, Grantaire catches Enjolras watching him in the bathroom mirror, an oddly familiar look in his eyes that Grantaire can’t quite place.

“Whad?”, he asks around a mouthful of toothpaste.

Enjolras shakes his head, blushing, and looks away. Grantaire spits out the suds and rinses his mouth. When he looks back up Enjolras is staring at him again. He turns around to face him, raises an eyebrow. Enjolras’s blush darkens and he bites his lip, this time upholding the eye contact. Even in the pale light of their bathroom he reminds Grantaire of a shining angel. There’s a strand of damp hair stuck to his forehead from when he washed his face two minutes ago. Unconsciously, Grantaire lifts a hand to move it behind Enjolras’s ear. The other leans into the touch. Grantaire’s heart thumps in his chest. His gaze flicks to Enjolras’s lips and back to his eyes.

“May I kiss you?”

“Please do.”

So Grantaire does. Carefully at first but with more confidence when Enjolras presses into him, grasping at his shirt. Then Grantaire’s hand is in Enjolras’s hair and his tongue in his mouth, kissing with everything he’s got. His heart is racing, blood rushing in his ears, his entire body tingling. Enjolras is warm in his arms, he tastes like spearmint toothpaste, and he’s so fucking perfect; Grantaire tightens his grip on his hair and he makes a soft sound of pleasure that sends an almost electric shock through Grantaire’s body. He grins into the other’s mouth and pulls him in closer with his free arm. Enjolras is grinning now, too, it’s making it difficult to keep kissing, so they just stand there, bodies flush against each other, sharing breaths.

“I’m glad we got matched.”

Grantaire smirks.

“Are you now?”

His husband rolls his eyes.

“Fuck you.”

“Actually, I’d rather fuck you, if that’s a possibility.”

They stare at each other. Now it’s Enjolras’s turn to smirk.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Taking a chance, Grantaire tugs on Enjolras’s hair and elicits a gasp that’s a little too high-pitched to be one just of surprise. He grins.

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

With that he pulls Enjolras into another kiss, one hand firmly buried in his hair, the other gently stroking his lower back. Enjolras practically melts against him, looping his arms around Grantaire’s shoulders.

They keep kissing until they’re both out of breath and Grantaire’s legs feel like Jell-O. He’s ready to sink to his knees and suck Enjolras off but although he’s not really expecting any objections to that, judging by the way Enjolras is moaning into his mouth, he doesn’t want their first time to take place on their bathroom floor, so he pulls back to smirk at his husband instead.

“Care to join me in bed? I’m sure your back will thank me tomorrow – as will the rest of you when I get to work properly.”

Enjolras lets out an exasperated groan.

“Fine, but promise you’ll stop talking.”

“Well then, let’s see if you can shut me up, shall we?”

Still smirking, Grantaire takes Enjolras’s hand and pulls him into the bedroom.

Then they’re kissing again and Enjolras is tugging on Grantaire’s shirt so he shucks it, barely fighting the urge to shiver under the other’s gaze. Grantaire begins to open Enjolras’s buttons, kisses down his neck and along his collarbone, every inch of newly revealed skin. Giving in to the pent-up desire of the last months he lightly bites the pale skin at Enjolras’s throat and the other honest-to-God whimpers.

“R…”

It’s a triumphant feeling, really. Grantaire pushes Enjolras backwards onto the bed while simultaneously peeling the shirt off his shoulders. He looks gorgeous like this, half naked and fully hard, lying in Grantaire’s bed, no, in their shared bed. Grantaire swallows thickly. He can’t mess this up.

“You know, I don’t have any actual, practical experience with this. Like, I know what I’m doing theoretically, but actually, I’m just improvising.”

Enjolras smiles up at him, that bright, fierce smile that’s a huge part of why Grantaire thinks he looks like a god.

“That’s okay. I trust you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire feels both his heart and his erection swell at that. He smiles back.

“Uh, take your pants off, then?”

Enjolras complies with the request and Grantaire strips off his own jeans before joining his husband on the bed. It’s a little awkward, new to both of them, hungry kisses and careful touches, goosebumps and shivers. Enjolras tilts his head to the side, baring his neck, and Grantaire licks and kisses along his throat, gingerly scrapes his teeth across his collarbone. It earns him a string of soft moans, and nails digging into his back as Enjolras attempts to pull him closer. Shifting his weight, Grantaire plants one of his knees in between the other’s legs, gently presses his thigh into his crotch. Enjolras gasps, hips bucking up against Grantaire. It’s enchanting, how he reacts to every little touch. Grantaire runs his fingertips down Enjolras’s side, feels him shiver. He grins.

“Are you ticklish?”

“Not really. You?”

“No!”, he says probably too quickly and then squeaks indignantly when Enjolras pinches his side. He tries to squirm away, his cock brushes Enjolras’s, and both of them moan, despite the two layers of thin cotton still separating them.

Grinning, Enjolras grabs him by the chin and kisses him again. Grantaire keeps running his hand up and down Enjolras’s side, mapping out every dip and bump. He rubs his thumb over a nipple, making Enjolras twitch.

“’This something that works for you?”

Enjolras blinks up at him, eyes dark.

“Yeah, but I’d rather have your hand elsewhere, if I’m honest.”

Grantaire smirks.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The look on Enjolras’s face is one of pure want, open and unguarded. It makes Grantaire’s heart beat into his throat. He swallows. Enjolras’s brows pull together, concerned.

“You okay?”

Grantaire laughs happily and nods.

“Yeah, more than that.”

He kisses Enjolras again, his lips, his cheek, along his jaw, the soft spot behind his ear. Apollo even smells like the sun, somehow. Like a blistering summer day and apple shampoo. Grantaire inhales deeply.

His hand travels down across Enjolras’s stomach, fingers running through the pale dusting of hair below his navel. He traces them along the elastic of the other’s boxer briefs, catching Enjolras’s eyes again to confirm that it’s okay to go ahead. Enjolras nods and lifts his hips so Grantaire can pull his underwear down and off. For a moment they’re both staring, Grantaire at Enjolras’s cock, kind of awed that he gets to see and experience this, Enjolras at Grantaire’s face, gauging his reaction. Grantaire licks his lips. He looks back up at Enjolras.

“Can I suck you off?”

Enjolras nods again, eyes impossibly dark and shiny. For once he doesn’t trust his voice.

Grantaire scoots down on the bed, trailing kisses across Enjolras’s stomach, hips and thighs.

“Tell me when something feels good. And also when something doesn’t. I’m improvising.”

“Yeah”, Enjolras breathes out.

Grantaire carefully licks up Enjolras’s shaft, keeping his tongue soft and flat. Enjolras inhales sharply.

“That’s good –“, he breaks off into a moan when Grantaire reaches the head and closes his lips around it. He turns inarticulate pretty quickly after that, moaning and gasping while Grantaire does his best at driving him out of his mind, paying close attention to the mazy sounds of pleasure and focusing on the things that make Enjolras babble “so good” and “R”.

After a while Enjolras’s moans grow louder, his hips twitch up, almost making Grantaire gag. He apologizes profusely until Grantaire grabs his hand and squeezes it. A moment later Enjolras gasps out:

“R, I’m going to…”

Grantaire pulls off for a moment to look up at him properly, his flushed cheeks, wide eyes and parted lips.

“Go ahead.”

He dives back in, and then Enjolras is falling apart, Grantaire’s name on his lips.

Grantaire swallows. The taste is not exactly great but it’s Enjolras, and he still can barely believe his luck.

 

When Grantaire comes back up to Enjolras’s face he’s met with a hazy grin.

“That’s pretty great for improv.”

He smirks and leans in to kiss his husband.

“Looks like I’m a natural.”

They kiss for a couple minutes, until Enjolras has regathered his wits and is running his fingers down Grantaire’s chest.

“Lie down, R.”

He pushes at Grantaire so their positions are switched, and straddles his thighs. Grantaire stares at him, suddenly aware of his own arousal. Holding his gaze, Enjolras gently strokes him through his underwear, Grantaire’s breath catches in his throat.

Then he pulls the fabric out of the way and gets to work with his mouth; and _Lord_ , if Grantaire is a natural, then Apollo is a god indeed.

At some point Grantaire buries his hands in Enjolras’s hair, grip tightening reflexively every time the other’s tongue swirls around his head. Every tug makes Enjolras moan a little, sending vibrations through Grantaire’s cock and his entire body.

It doesn’t take long until he’s stuttering out a warning for Enjolras before his orgasm rolls through him.

When he opens his eyes again Enjolras is wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a slightly disgusted look on his face. Their glances meet and they both laugh. Grantaire opens his arms and Enjolras lies down next to him, nestling up against his side. It’s warm and comfortable, both of them soft and pliant in the afterglow.

“I really am glad we got matched, you know?”, Enjolras says softly. Grantaire smiles.

“Yeah, me too.”

 

***

It’s a Friday afternoon, Grantaire sits in the back of the room at the café where Enjolras’s social justice group has its meetings, and watches his husband rant about the campaign they’re planning. They’ve been married for a little over a year now and it’s going surprisingly well. That is, when Enjolras isn’t spouting utter bullshit. Which he is most of the time, including right now. Grantaire tilts his chair back and rolls his eyes.

“You do know they’re not gonna listen to half an hour of your ranting, right, Apollo?”

Enjolras glares at him.

“Actually, they will. That’s the point of the event.”

Grantaire snorts.

“Yeah. Good luck.”

“Oh, shut up”, says Enjolras. Grantaire raises a challenging eyebrow:

“Make me.”

The rest of the people in the room groan in unison.

“Get a room, you two!”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a comment if you enjoyed it, I love feedback, favorite lines, and unintelligible screaming.
> 
> Also, who finds all the hidden side ships gets a virtual cookie.
> 
> My tumblr is also @ fanpersoningfox


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